because in new york
people just look both ways when it's a red light
and if nothing's coming, they cross the street anyways;

because I look up and I can see so easily how everything could crumble,
how this street could look so different in an instant

because you push and push and meet and organize and conference call
and publish and travel and take busses and stay up late and go to bed early
and the front of you hair goes white and the 90s were twenty years ago

and one day, three thousand of your friends sit in a bowl of light
in front of the big limestone building government
and decide to all stop working and going to school next week

and you are living in the Starhawk dream of your teenagerhood
but so much less fucked up: your backyard full of chickens and greens,
house falling down pretty, bursting with busy housemates,

sweeping your hand up the falling-down stairs you will fix
yourself